


Anomalous

by Traviosita9124



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, F/M, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-04-25 00:53:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4940395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traviosita9124/pseuds/Traviosita9124
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After running an experiment at an inopportune time, Leo Fitz knocks himself out... and wakes up in an entirely different timeline. One where he and Jemma are partners in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this ages ago with BraveJem over on tumblr and I'm finally getting around to editing and posting this. I'm hoping for a chapter a week, so long as the real world doesn't interfere.

The first thing he noticed as he drifted into consciousness was the hum of engines.

 

_I’m on th’ Bus. Tha’s good a’ least._

 

His mind was sluggish, and he recognized it as being the after effects of painkillers. His training kicked in, and Fitz forced himself to push past the haze of drugs in order to remember.

 

_There was an accident in th’ lab. Somethin’ went wrong wit’ th’ damn experimen’._

 

He could remember working with Jemma in the mobile lab. He remembered the accelerated beeping, and shrill pitch of Jemma’s voice shouting, “Get down!” He remembered a brief taste of blood in his mouth as heat licked up his back... then nothing else.

 

Moving slowly, he brought his left hand up to feel the back of his head. His hair was singed, but aside from the pounding headache he had there didn’t seem to be any serious damage. He stretched his arm to the right, reaching for his bedside table… which wasn’t there. He opened his eyes slowly, wary of any bright light, and saw what appeared to be a bunk on the Bus; however, the bed was much larger than a standard bunk.

 

Fitz had no time to contemplate that development as the door to the bunk slid open with a soft hiss, admitting a familiar head of caramel locks.

 

“Simmons, thank God, wha’ th’ hell happened?”

 

Jemma let out a sigh of relief as she took him in, eyes roaming over his face and body to assess for damage. He seemed physically fine, aside from the singed hair and drowsiness of the painkillers she’d administered hours ago… But he _never_ called her Simmons.

 

Perhaps he had a concussion to some degree?

 

She smiled and walked over to the edge of their bed, leaning over carefully so as to not put weight on him - she wasn’t sure if there was any unseen damage after all - and kissed him softly, lips pressing to his in an easy familiarity. She smiled as she pulled back, eyes wrinkling with a twinkle despite the terrible fright he’d given her earlier. She never could stay upset with him— no matter how many times she’d told him not to test the particle accelerator when they were mid air.

 

"You almost blew out us of the sky is what happened, Leo. Thank god you’re all right. Though, I do think you may have a concussion…"

 

The contact was brief, gentle, and chaste, but Fitz felt as if he’d been electrocuted when her lips touched his.

 

Sure, she had kissed him before, particularly when he was ill or in an emotionally charged moment, but always on the cheek, sometimes the forehead, _never_ on the lips. He remained frozen, penned in with her arms around him, the bedclothes clenched beneath his fingers. If it hadn’t been for that, and for the involuntary racing of his heart, he never would have believed it had happened. Maybe it hadn’t; maybe he had hit his head harder than he’d thought, because he couldn’t believe that she would treat their first kiss so casually. Simmons would be biting her lip and looking anywhere but his eyes, nervous as hell if she had really kissed him. Instead, she just sat there, smiling at him, looking as angelic as ever. Fitz felt his heart clench a bit.

 

He shook it off and focused on what she had said.

 

“A concussion? Simmons, are you sure? I dinnae think I hit m’ head tha’ hard,” he muttered sheepishly, embarrassed that he could have knocked himself out doing something that should have been simple… even if it was foolish to do mid-flight. Moving gingerly, he shifted himself up to lean against the headboard.

 

His movement brought his face closer to Simmons’ own, and he caught a whiff of something feminine yet unfamiliar, that seemed to cling to her skin. It forced him to take a better look at her, and it was only then that he realized he recognized the jumper she was wearing as one of his old ones that he had long outgrown. Funny, he’d thought he’d seen it in the back of his closet the other day.

 

“Did you change your perfume? An’ wha’ are you doin’ wit’ my old  jumper?”

 

"Hmm yes. A concussion to some level, Fitz. I’m not wearing new perfume - this is the same one you bought me in Paris. And I don’t think you’ve called this jumper yours in about three years... so yes, definitely a mild concussion. How are your ribs and spine feeling? You flew into the lab bench pretty hard. Maybe I should check you over..."

 

Her hands reached for him, tugging at his jumper to get it over his head so she could assess his ribs, abdomen, and spine.

 

Fitz allowed her to strip him of the grey-green garment, followed by his undershirt, without thinking. She has always been the closest thing to a medic they have on board, and each of them have been in various states of undress before her for a variety of reasons. He sat up as much as the stiffness in his torso would allow so Simmons could work unimpeded. He flinched and let out a small hiss when her fingers made contact, causing her eyes to snap to his with an unspoken question.

 

“Doesnae hurt too badly, your hands are jus’ cold is all.”

 

She accepted his answer and her fingers continued their gentle probing of the motley of black, blue, and green that covered his left side. He watched her carefully. Nothing seemed off, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He could remember the trip to Paris she mentioned; it had been around her last birthday, and he had indeed bought her a gift… but it had been an original edition of _Les Liasions Dangereues_ , not a bottle of perfume. And while he may not have worn that jumper in three years, it had almost certainly been in his closet that morning, not draped around her slender frame.

 

Her fingers glided over his skin— skin she’s seen and touched before. But it’s never been covered in these colors, contusions causing damage to a deep subcutaneous levels, blood vessels burst and along with a bit of swelling around the area where he’d made contact with the edge of the lab bench. But nothing was broken— thank God— and though he’d probably need some pain relievers for the next few days, he’d come out of the explosion with no serious injury.

 

Aside from the mild concussion.

 

 _That_ had her worried.

 

She pulled her hands from his skin and leaned back with a sigh.

 

"It will probably be painful for a few days, but some paracetamol will help. You should take it easy for the next few days, just in case though. No strenuous activity."

 

She has long moved past blushing, but Jemma did give him a small, secret smile and she couldn’t help the her right brow arched a little bit.

 

She wanted to tell him that she’d told him not to use the particle accelerator mid-air, wanted to tell him how he’d given her a terrible fright when she’d heard the explosion, but she glanced at the bruises on his body and the words died in her throat. She was just relieved Fitz was only slightly bruised with a mild concussion.

 

"Thank God you’re all right, Leo. I don’t know what I’d done if you’d seriously injured yourself."

 

She leaned back into him a little, trying to keep most of her weight off of him and the bruises that have created a pattern on his torso, and her hand found his as it rested on their bed. Her fingers grazed his before she slid them together and she could feel each of the calluses decorating his palm.

 

That small thing was incredibly comforting and familiar.

 

Despite reminding himself that it was merely a clinical exam, Fitz felt anxious as she examined his chest and ribs. He knew he lacked the muscle mass of a Peterson or Ward, and she hadn’t exactly hidden her reaction to those two.

 

Which was why he found himself shocked to be on the receiving end of a flirtatious smile, one that implied activities far more entertaining than moving equipment about the lab. He felt a blush warming his cheeks, and it was a relief when she shifted so she could lean her back against his right side, effectively hiding him from her gaze. Between the warmth radiating off of her, the gentle patterns she was tracing along his palm, and the hypnotic pull of the painkillers, Fitz was ready to take another nap. He gave her hand a light squeeze before withdrawing it to scrub at his face and mask a yawn.

 

“Wha’ d’ you think, Doc, can I risk a nap?” Fitz gave her his best lazy, let-me-have-my-way grin before looking around the bunk. It was definitely larger than his; he assumed that it’s Coulson’s, given the dimensions and the far more muffled sound of the engines. It certainly wasn’t on the main deck where the rest of the team slept. “Although Coulson may not like me kippin’ in his bunk, I’m too tired t’ move a’ th’ momen’.”

 

He yawned again for emphasis, and slid further down the bed, settling in as he waited for Jemma’s answer.

 

She watched him sink into their bed, settling in for sleep but his words caught her off guard.

 

 _Coulson’s_ bunk?

 

Her brow furrowed and the doctor in her was suddenly on red alert. Jemma knows she couldn’t allow him to fall asleep— the concussion he had received was much more serious than she’d initially thought. She laid a hand on his shoulder, a sudden fear gnawing at her brain. Her voice shifted from easy and affectionate to pinched and on-edge.

 

"No, no don’t go to sleep yet. I think… I think you may have hit your head harder than I first thought."

 

She pushed off their bed and stood next to the mattress, eyes jumping over him nervously as she tried to detect what she hadn’t before.

 

She should have asked him before, should have known not to just trust what him when he’d said he was okay. The explosion had shaken the entire airship— down to the 4th floor. It had blown a hole through the lab and into the indoor shooting range. She didn’t know why he’d made it out only singed and bruised, but she’d been so relieved that he was all right that she hadn’t questioned it. Now, she felt like an idiot. She should have done a more thorough assessment, should have had him taken down to the medical bay instead of having him brought here to their room.

 

"Leo, whose bunk is this?"

 

The question caught him off guard. He’d already told her whose bunk it was. He sat up again and ran through it in his brain: quieter engine sounds than from his bunk, larger bed, larger room in general…

 

He forced himself to look around the bunk and see where he was. The room was large, more than large enough for the queen-sized mattress he was currently occupying. There were two windows to his left, instead of the standard single window, offering him a glimpse of cerulean sky. The bedclothes were standard S.H.I.E.L.D. issue… no, they were not. His brain stuttered to a stop as he recognized the throw at the end of the bed: it was the one Simmons bought him their one Christmas at the Academy after he’d refused to turn up the heat in his dorm. He’d always teased her that the throw, patterned in his family’s tartan, was more a gift for herself than for him.

 

Why the hell was it in Coulson’s bunk?

 

He could feel the concern rolling off her in palpable waves as his eyes darted about, searching for more clues. Their lab coats were neatly hanging on a hook next to the door, and he noticed now that there was a small vanity in the far corner that seemed to hold far more toiletries than a man as Spartan as Coulson would ever need. The bedside table held two tablets - their tablets, he thought - along with the glasses Simmons sometimes used, but that wasn’t what gives him pause. There was a framed picture of the two of them, and he reached past her to snatch it up for a closer look.

 

He clutched it in both hands, holding it inches from his nose, as if that would help him scrutinize it. It was of the two of them, him and Jemma. The two of them in the frame were clearly on vacation; there was no S.H.I.E.L.D.-sanctioned equipment or clothing visible, just what looked like a beautiful beach - somewhere in the south of Spain, if he had to guess. But that wasn’t what surprised him; what surprised him was that they were in the midst of a full-on snog, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist as her hands cradled his jaw. Her left hand was visible in the shot.

 

As was the rather impressive diamond ring adorning her fourth finger.

 

Fitz set the picture next to him on the bed and let out a shaky breath. He could feel the blood draining out of his face as he looked into gentle hazel eyes. Fitz found himself fearing that he’d gone out of his mind.

 

“Simmons-- Jemma, wha’ th’ hell happened today? Because whatever this is, it cannae jus’ be because o’ th’ particle accelerator.”

 

_Not good._

 

She was panicking a little bit on the inside as she watched him pick up the picture of them on their honeymoon. It was as if he’d never seen it before despite the fact that it had been sitting on their nightstand for over a year.

 

He looked shell shocked as he stared up at her: eyes wide and face pale, and her heart picked up speed.

 

He looked frightened, confused. He was scaring her now.

 

"It’s okay, everything’s all right. I think…" she said, more to herself than to him, trying to reassure herself that her husband was safe and sound, hoping that the damage - _if_ there was damage, which she was beginning think was a near certainty - to his brain was only temporary.

 

"You were working on the particle accelerator in the lab. There was an accident. We don’t know exactly what caused it yet. They’re still trying to collect the pieces from the shooting range as well as the lab. You blew a damn hole in the airship, Leo." Jemma took a deep breath, reminding herself it wasn’t the time to scold him. She could do that later, once she knew he was going to be all right. “You were thrown a few feet, hit the lab bench, and struck your head. What do you remember?”

 

She wanted to ask him what day it was, the name of the president, all the questions she would normally ask a patient who had a head injury, but it was Leo - _her_ Leo. And though he was off a bit, his eyes were clear and focused, directed on her and her wedding ring— his grandmother’s ring.

 

_Surely he remembers we’re married._

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_Oh God._

_Airship._

He wasn’t on the Bus. He wasn’t on the Bus, and based on the pleading, need-filled look Jemma was giving him, as well as the engagement ring and wedding band glittering at him from her left hand, they were married here. Wherever here was.

He wanted to lie to her. He wanted to pretend that his life here was coming back to him, that he remembered everything about their relationship… but he couldn’t do that. Glancing at the photo laying beside him, he realized suddenly that he was jealous. He was jealous of whoever it was in the photo with her, whoever it was that gets to kiss Jemma Simmons in a way that gets her to leap into his arms, eyes tightly closed as she surrenders. He was jealous of the man running about in his body who knew what it felt like to sleep beside her and what she felt like around him. He shook his head in an attempt to clear the thought.

She wasn’t his Jemma, apparently, and he needed to focus on figuring out what happened.

What scared him the most at the moment was the word tesseract scraping against the back of his brain.

“I-- I remember workin’ on th’ Bus. I was workin’ with the’ particle accelerator there, tryin’ to fix th’ new comm chips tha’ Coulson asked me t’ look at. Then, th’ world wen’ hot an’ I woke up here--” He left out the “wit’ you,” that had been on the tip of his tongue. It seemed needlessly cruel, but he wanted to at least suggest the next idea that crossed his mind. Regardless of where they were, she was Jemma Simmons, and Simmons was bloody brilliant.

“Bu’ tha’s not all. We were called in for an 0-8-4,” he looked her dead in the eye as he said the next part, wanting her to know that he was telling her the absolute truth as he knew it. “It was like Peru--” it occurred to him that she wouldn’t catch the reference, but he plunged forward, “-- th’ 0-8-4 was powered by tesserac’ tech.”

He watched the realization drift across her face, and put a voice to both of their concerns.

“We stored it in th’ lab. I think it interacted with th’ accelerator somehow…”

He couldn’t finish. The idea was so damn ridiculous, too much like science fiction for a S.H.I.E.L.D. scientist with multiple Ph.D.s to voice aloud.

Jemma felt her chest constrict when he mentioned the Bus.

They hadn’t worked on the Bus in over 6 months. Director Fury had upgraded their team to the multi-level airship after they’d taken down Centipede - after their weaponry had made it possible to track, locate, and intercept all of the operatives with Centipede tech implanted into their brains and eyes. It had just been a simple matter of following the trail after they made that breakthrough, and it hadn’t gone without recognition.

Her mind was whirling around this information, catching the mention of 0-8-4, but she had no bloody idea what those numbers refer to until he says “tesseract tech.”

Her eyes went wide, horror and realization flooding her system in waves. They kept the bloody tesseract tech _in the lab with the particle accelerator_?

No.

They didn’t. She would never allow it. She knew what that tech can do, knew the dangers of the dimensional continuity and universal transportations.

_Oh my God._

It dawned on her then— bloomed in her brain, spreading wide through the neural pathways in her mind and hitting her heart with a blow that shook her, causing her to tremble. She took a step back from him, hands shaking and feeling like she couldn’t breathe.

"You… you’re… You’re not _my Leo_.”

She took another small step back, because suddenly she remembered the physical contact she’d made earlier, the assessment, the teasing words, the pattern of fractals she’d drawn onto his palm that should have made him smile…

It wasn’t possible. It really was not. Everything scientific within her said she was wrong, entirely off base, but… Tesseract tech. Particle accelerator.

Leo.

A new wave of fear gripped her tight.

"Where’s my Leo? _Where’s my husband_?”

~*~*~*~

Fitz awoke rather abruptly when he hit the floor, and a strangled half-groan, half-scream monstrosity escaping his throat a moment later as bright points of pain lanced through his torso.

After sucking in a few deep breaths, he managed to heave himself up to sit on the edge of the too-small mattress. Fitz was annoyed; it had been months since he’d had to cram into a twin-sized bed, so it was no wonder that he accidentally rolled off it and onto the floor. He glanced around the cupboard-sized space and felt a chill roll down his spine.

He was in his old bunk, the one he’d occupied on the Bus.

 _Shite_.

She’d told him countless times to not use the damn particle accelerator while they were in the air. Despite her warning and knowing it wasn’t calibrated, he couldn’t help playing with it, and now, apparently, he’d done enough damage to take them off their state-of-the-art gift from Fury and land them back on the Bus. She was going to be livid with him, well, as soon as she checked him over to be sure he was all right. He couldn’t help but smirk at the thought; that was his Jemma. She might lay into him, but not before making sure he could withstand the onslaught she’d unleash.

Just then, the door slid open, revealing the very woman he’d been thinking about. She appeared frozen in the doorway, unsure of how to proceed.

Seeing an opportunity to head her off at the pass, Fitz reached out across the cramped space to snag her wrist and pull her to sit across his knees. He hissed a bit when she brushed against his injured ribs, but maintained his grip on her waist with his left arm as his right hand came up to cup her cheek.

“Jemma, lass, I’m sorry if I scared you. I know, you’ve tol’ me time ‘n’ time again tha’ th’ damn particle accelerator is off limits in-flight. I promise, it willnae happen again.”

He punctuated his promise by guiding her mouth to his and kissing her deeply, his tongue brushing against her lower lip to beg entrance along with forgiveness.

Jemma was too shocked, too caught off guard to do anything but let him pull her into his lap. When his hand found its way to her face, she would have sworn that all the oxygen left her body, making her mind claw for a correct response somewhere deep in the recesses of her boundary-appreciating brain.

But when his lips pushed into hers, strong and steady— like they’d done this a million times before— all the warnings flash in her brain and she let out a high pitched squeak from the back of her throat, planted her hands on his chest, and _shoved_.

“ _Fitz_!" Her tone was half horrified and half embarrassed as she clambered from his lap, standing to take a few steps away from him and putting appropriate space between them again. Her face was aflame, she could tell, and she could feel the heat spreading from her face to her chest. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that her ears were a bright of pink.

What the hell? He must have hit his head harder than any of them had assumed. Maybe she should have May redirect them to the nearest SHIELD Medical facility…

He knew she likely wouldn’t take it well, but Fitz couldn’t help laughing at her reaction. She hadn’t jumped away from him like that since they’d first started sneaking around the Bus at the beginning of their relationship. She hadn’t called him “Fitz” in ages, either, but being back on the Bus she seemed to have fallen back on old habits. His eyes darted to the open door, and although he still found it endlessly amusing, he decides that was it exactly.

“Chris’, Jem, it’s no’ as if they dinnae know tha’ we kiss from time t’ time. I mean, tha’ time you wandered int’ May at 3 am in nothin’ bu’ your knickers an’ my shir’ pretty much gave away the whole story on tha’ one,” he said with a gentle chuckle. They were both private people, but once Coulson had not only discovered, but approved of, their relationship, Fitz had relaxed his need for privacy. He couldn’t fathom why that would change now.

Still, she seemed deeply upset, and a twinge of guilt creeped into his chest. He’d given her a fright today, and he wasn’t doing either of them favors by teasing her now. He pushed off the bed, his body protesting slightly at the change in position, and grasped her by the shoulders.

“Look, I’m sorry, Jem. It’s my fault’ for screwin’ aroun’ in th’ lab,” he moved his left hand to brush her hair out of her face and slid his right down her arm to catch her hand with his. “I’m sure you need t’ do an exam. Le’s go t’ th’ lab so you can ge’ on wit’ it.” He went to lace their fingers together when he noticed that something was missing. He glanced down, only to find her ring finger was conspicuously empty.

“Jemma, lass, where’s my grandmother’s ring?”

 _Wandering in nothing but her knickers_? Her entire face practically glowed from embarrassment - since when did Fitz talk about her undergarments so freely?! She pulled her hand from his and looked at it like she’d never seen it before.

She was now entirely certain that she needed to get May to take them to a medical facility as soon as possible.

“ _Your grandmother’s ring_?” She managed to squeak out in a small, horrified voice and shook her head. Why on earth would she have his _grandmother’s_ ring?

"Fitz, you need to lay down immediately. You’re not making any sense whatsoever. I need to get you to a SHIELD Medical facility for a full work up. I think you might have a concussion… among other injuries."

Among losing his mind. He’d _kissed_ her. Kissed her full and hard, like they’d done it before. Even with everything else happening - with the physician in her on alert and the scientist side of her brain worried about their lab - it made her heart race, pulse jumping. She’d thought about it before, of course, wondered it would be like to have his mouth on hers in a gentle press of contact, but she’d certainly never imagined it quite like _that_.

Fitz wasn’t normally so tactile, touching her hair and face. If anything, they’d become more separate in that particular area the grayer that part of their lives became, full of territory that neither of them were quite sure they were ready to navigate just yet.

He’d just barreled through any and every boundary and unspoken agreement they’d ever created as if it was second nature for him. It wasn’t like him at all and it frightened her.

She took a step back from him, trying to gain space to help her clear her head and so she could him without the fuzziness of his nearness affecting her senses.

He would have found her blush adorable had she not stepped away from him with a mixed look of fear and uncertainty in her eyes. He was scaring her, badly. She didn’t know why she’d have his grandmother’s ring, that much was written plainly on her face. A truly frightening thought occurs to him: she doesn’t believe they’re married.

Fitz had woken up in a bloody nightmare.

He collapsed heavily on the bed, but kept his eyes on hers.

“You... you really dinnae remember? _Shite_ ,” the curse came out with a whimper rather than a roar. “Wha’s happened, Jemma? We...we’re married, o’ I though’ we were.”

He swallowed, his throat tight. If he was honest with himself, he'd wanted to spend the rest of his life with her since they’d met at the Academy. He couldn’t imagine spending his life next to anyone _but_ her, and the day she’d finally kissed him (late at night, hidden in the lab while everyone else dozed above them) had been the best day of his life, up until their wedding day. He felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes and quickly blinked them back; this was no time for him to wallow in pity. They needed to fix this, together, the sooner the better.

“Jemma, please, dinnae take me t’ a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility. Le’s go down t’ th’ lab. Conduct your exam. Then, tell me everythin’ tha’s happened, from when I blew up th’ lab t’ now.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

He’d lost his bloody Scottish mind. _Married_?

But then he was begging her to not redirect their flight path, sounding so desperate and dejected that it twisted her heart. He never sounded like that. And, to be honest, though he was scaring her with all the talk and physical contact, his eyes were suspiciously clear and bright, just like they always were, pupils dilating and contracting in the expected pattern.

"Okay, okay." She said, holding up her hands in surrender. She doesn’t think she could say no to him, not when he asked like that and looked at her with that look.

"I don’t know what you think, but we’re most certainly not married. Not that I… I mean, I—” she fumbled over her words, trying to get them back to the safety of their clearly defined roles despite the rush of emotions that the word married had given her.

"We’re not married. We’re not even _anything_.” Well, that wasn’t true. They were something. But she didn’t know what, exactly. Now was not the time to assess and reassess it, though. Not with him clearly suffering a concussion of some level.

"I can do the exam here. But you’ll have to take that jumper and button up off."

The word _married_ was still floating around in her head, and the idea of him shirtless added into the mix made her flush.

Again. _God_.

"But I still think we should land somewhere and get you an MRI." She mumbled out, more to herself than to him. The only reason she refused to push the issue was due to the desperation on his face, and Jemma needed him to know that by not doing so she was going against her better medical judgment.

The words rang out in his head: “ _We’re not anything._ ”

They would hurt more if she hadn’t seem so flustered by the idea of approaching him again. So, he made a conscious, if somewhat cruel, choice and decided to unnerve her as much as he could. She may not believe they’re married, but she’d damn well know they were _something_.

“Whatever you wan’, sweethear’,” he drawled at her as moved to his feet yet again.

He quickly stripped his jumper up and over his head, casually tossing it onto the bed behind him. He maintained eye contact with her as he jerked his tie loose and began to work on the buttons.

“Can you shut th’ door at leas’? You have t’ see me, but I’d prefer t’ no’ give th’ rest of th’ team a free show.”

She dropped her gaze and slid the door shut before looking at him again. He’d finished with the buttons by then and allowed the shirt to drop to the floor, leaving himself nude from the waist up. He didn’t bother to suck in his stomach or puff out his chest or any other such nonsense. While most people wouldn’t expect it, Leopold Fitz was quite fit, even if he lacked the brawn of a Grant Ward. His muscles were ropey, but well-defined and pleasing to both the eye and touch. At least that’s what his wife had always claimed.

So, he gave her a grin he hoped was at least somewhat charming and challenged, “Are you goin’ t’ start, or wha’?”

 _Jesus_.

She felt the tendrils of heat sneak up her abdomen and work their way through her system. Then, he gave her a rather cheeky grin and it hit her like a smack to her face: he was flirting with her. Her stomach swooped and the heat that been coiling its way through system suddenly turned to a chill.

 _That wasn’t  Fitz_.

It wasn’t the Fitz she’d spent years with at the Academy, on the Bus, as _friends_. He’d tease her, make jokes with her or about her, even maybe with a hint of mischievousness, but he’d never _flirt_ with her.

She was on high alert, medical training kicking in, and she could feel the frown on her face, pulling her brows tight together and her mouth into a thin line. If he weren’t being so damn convincing about a brain injury, she’d think he was having her on, messing with her on purpose. But the cheeky grin he’d given her was genuinely a flirtatious one, and though she was a horrible flirt herself, she could read the look in his eyes. That, and the fact that he’d pulled her into his lap and kissed her earlier.

No, he wasn’t messing with her. He was genuinely brain damaged from the explosion. She still wasn’t convinced he didn’t need an MRI and a full work up, but she’d already agreed to this and she never went back on her word.

She took a deep breath in, calming herself and slipped into the familiarity of science and biology.

"Sit down." She ordered him, voice firm but kind, trying not to let on how concerned she really was but knowing she was probably too late for that.

Her hands tentatively pushed and prodded at the bruises on his ribs, feeling for cracks or broken ribs. He hissed once and it startled her, but she continued on knowing that it was best to get it over with. She examined his back next, the pattern of greenish hued bruises making her grimace, but found nothing that required immediate attention. The bruises would heal and though he’d be sore and probably stiff for the next few weeks, he was damn lucky he hadn’t broken anything.

So was Jemma.

She hadn’t really had the time to assess herself in the craze of clearing out the lab and getting him up here, but she could feel the bruises she must have on her torso every time she twisted or turned while examining him. She was low priority though, having been shielded by the metal of the lab bench, and though she’d been knocked unconscious for a few minutes, it had almost helped her in a way. It had made her body more pliant and flexible instead of tense and rigid, braced for the explosion.

Fitz had taken the brunt of it.

He hated to admit it, but he was more than a little disappointed when she didn’t flirt back with him. It had never failed him before, and now he was worried that something was terribly wrong. Jemma was only this non-responsive to his overtures when she was truly scared or upset. Given her earlier suggestion of an MRI, she thought a head injury was likely. He wanted, needed, to convince her that he wasn’t insane, that the bump he suffered didn’t cause that much damage, but Fitz was unsure of how to do that.

He sat when Jemma directed him to, and took the poking and prodding of her fingers in stride, even as her warm breath washing past his skin began to distract him. He glanced down at her; her eyes were riveted on him, but instead of the look of lust he’d been hoping for, she was clinical. He still found it terribly endearing, and it occurred to Fitz he could steal another kiss if he really wanted. He held off though, wanting to address the nonsense issue of a head injury first.

The way her fingers were skimming up his spine, checking for injury, reminded him of their first night in Marbella. After collapsing in exhaustion, they slept until the early morning, when he had woken up to the feeling of her fingers dancing over his back. Their first night as man and wife followed, and although he’s had her plenty of other times, that one was still his favorite, and still caused his cheeks to flush easily.

He wondered if that was what he should tell her about to convince her of the reality of their marriage.

 _Dinnae be stupi’, she already thinks you’re cracked for believing you’re married t’ her_.

Fitz waited for her to move back in front of him before speaking, and he scrutinized her face before he began. That was when he noticed it, a small purplish bruise forming above her left temple. He frowned involuntarily as he made his decision: he’d speak his piece, and then consent to whatever testing at whatever S.H.I.E.L.D. facility she wanted, so long as she undergoes testing, too.

“Jemma, lass, I kno’ you think I’ve lost my min’. But if I werenae married t’ you, how would I know abou’ th’ birthmark? Th’ one on your left thigh, righ’ where your thigh an’ hip join.”

He left out that it was one of his favorite places to kiss her; there was no need to send her into a coronary.

“Look, if you really wan’, we can go t’ a medical facility t’ be checked out. But it’ll be we, no’ me, you understan’? You’ve got a nice bruise formin’,” he brushed it softly with his fingertips before pressing forward, “an’ I’m sure no one’s bothered t’ check up an’ see if you’ve done’ an exam on yourself.”

How could he possibly know about her birth mark?

The thought was unnerving, odd, and sort of felt like an invasion of a privacy she hadn’t realized she’d valued. She hated that birthmark. When she had been younger, she’d even tried to scrub it away to no avail. The combination of the idea that he somehow - and she wasn’t sure wanted to know how exactly - knew about it and chose to make his point with it stung deep.

She shook her head, both to get his hands away from the bruise she hadn’t known she’d had and to avoid the unintentional intimacy of the moment.

"Stop that," she hissed at him, because the featherlight touch he’d used was enough to make black, fuzzy spots pepper her vision and his presence so close to her wasn’t helping any.

She felt everything was closing in on her, leaving her nowhere to go with the door now closed and his stare focused intently on her.

 _I’ve cocked it all up_.

Instead of any kind of acceptance or acknowledgement, she’d walled herself off, refusing to even meet his eyes. To top it all, the sharp intake of breath when he’d touched her told him she was hurting far more than he’d first suspected. Fitz wanted her checked out and given an all clear before he went back to persuading Jemma that she was actually his wife, and he wasn’t deluded or some pervert who had fantasies about his lab partner.

He cleared his throat and stared at the floor, hoping that would make her less… uncomfortable around him. It hurt that he had to take such measures with her, but it was more important to get answers than dwell on any awkwardness.

“What’ll it be, Jem? We goin’ t’ medical, or are you satisfied? An’ if you willnae answer tha’ question, can you please tell me wha’ I was doin’ to manage enough damage t’ th’ airship tha’ we’re back on th’ bloody Bus? Th' particle accelerator alone woul' no' cause tha' much trouble.”

"I still think you need an MRI, but if you think… "

She blinked, brow furrowed, fuzzy spots and MRI’s forgotten and her eyes snapped to him.

"Airship? What _airship_?”

His eyes met hers again, allowing Jemma to take note of just how clear they are, despite the trauma he had been through, and she knew then that the blow she’d taken to the head during the explosion must be affecting her more than she’d thought. Suddenly she felt a little bit dizzy, swaying on her feet ever so slightly.

"I need… I need to sit down." She whispered, still on edge from his encroachment on her boundaries. At any other time - namely when he hadn’t just sustained a brain injury from an explosion - she would have welcomed it, but now it left her feeling uneasy.

 _He wasn’t making any sense_.

The eyes that met his own were confused, bordering on panicked now.

Without thinking, he reached out to steady her, grasping her by the elbow as he guided her to sit next to him on the bed. She wobbled and collapsed next to him; Jemma wound up close enough that he could feel her shaking. Fear welled within him, freezing into a hard knot just behind his heart. He brushed the hair back from her face so he could get a better look at her, and found no comfort in doing so.

“Lass, you’ve hit your head harder than you though’. We havenae been on th’ Bus in half a year. You dinnae remember a’ all? It was our reward after we caugh’ Centipede…”

He trailed off when he registered her blank expression. There wasn’t even a glimmer of recognition behind her eyes. It was one of their crowning achievements as a scientific team, and she couldn’t even remember. Fitz found himself chilled to the bone.  

“Jemma, now you’re scarin’ me. ‘M callin’ May an’ you’re gettin’ checked ou’ as soon as we land.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

“I’m scaring you?” She doesn’t actually mean for it come out so incredulously, but between being lightheaded, the pain now sparking from the side of her head, and the way he kept touching her like he was so damn accustomed to it, she couldn’t help it.

"You’re scaring me! I have no clue what you’re talking about! We haven’t caught Centipede! Ward is in the field right now, trying to get inside. That’s why you were trying to make the particle accelerator work in the first place: a means inside the operations, equipment they were looking for. And an airship? No. We have never— ever— been on an airship. Only Director Fury has an airship— and it’s barely legal as it is!”

She hadn’t realized she was shaking, but she looked at her hands and could easily see the evidence of involuntary tremors. Her head was killing her, too, and Fitz was not helping. Jemma was almost frantic with worry for him now. If she weren’t so unsteady on her feet, she would be halfway to the cockpit by now with instructions for May to land immediately. With the way he was behaving, she couldn’t trust that he wouldn’t try to convince May he was fine if she used the comms instead.

A wave of nausea hit her system and her eyes closed as she clenched her teeth together, waiting for it pass. It was merely a side effect of her concussion, she knew that well enough, but Jemma willfully ignored it. She could function with a mild concussion. It was her partner that concerned her more.

Fitz’ heart clenched when she squeezed her eyes shut. She was in pain, and other than having her lie down, he had no idea what to do about it. Not that she’d lie down at this point, even if he pointed out the logic in it; Jemma was clearly too wound up from their back-and-forth earlier. He could shoot her with the Night-Night Gun and she’d still get right back up.

He offered himself as a brace as she rode out the moment, placing a hand on her knee and giving it a reassuring squeeze as his mind turned back to the problem at hand. There was no way both of them could be this confused, even if they were concussed. Something bigger must have happened. His racing mind snagged on one idea and refused to budge.

The particle accelerator.

It was the only thing they could agree on: right before the explosion, he was working with the particle accelerator. His mind flitted over the applications of that particular piece of equipment, and came to a sudden halt after touching on Feynman and Everett. It shouldn’t (couldn’t) be possible, but the potential still chills him to the bone. The theory forming in his head wasn’t much to go on, but it was far better than having nothing for his mind to work over. He lightly tapped her knee, not wanting to disturb her but needing her attention.

“Jemma, it has t’ be th’ particle accelerator. Whatever wen’ wrong wit’ today, it all comes back t’ the damn particle accelerator.” He breathed the words into the scant space between them in an attempt to keep his voice low and calm.

Fitz sat and waited, his gaze fixed on her, hoping she would at least see the logic in what he was saying. Seeing her hurt, though, left his resolve to get to the bottom of this confusion weakening. He wanted to get to the bottom of what happened, but he couldn’t abandon the woman he was beginning to suspect wasn’t actually his wife, for all she looks like her. His antiquated chivalry  simply wouldn’t allow it.

“Jemma,” he ventured, struggling to keep emotion out of his voice, “wha’ if we jus’ inadvertently proved Everett right?”

Jemma’s head was still swimming when he mentioned Everett, bringing everything to a sudden, jarring stop.

She pulled her hands from her face and looked at him— really looked at him. What he’d just suggested, what it implied… A shiver snaked up her spine.

A year ago, she’d have laughed in his face, waved him off and told him to go back to class. But with everything that had happened in the last twelve months - New York and the Avengers, even the case they’d had with Tobias Ford and Hannah Hutchins - she had to really stop and look at him, contemplate what he was saying…  proving the many-worlds theory of universal wavefunction correct. It was… Preposterous. Absolutely crazy. And yet, it made absolutely perfect sense.

“Oh my god.”

Pieces of the equation began to slip into place, the bizarreness of the situation and the explosion and his behavior… She hadn’t even told him yet that the size of the explosion was nearly unexplainable. No one had figured out how the particle accelerator could do that much damage.

If he was right - and if was a huge part of that sentence - what he was actually saying was that Fitz— the Fitz who’d been in the lab with her during the explosion— was not the Fitz sitting next to her.

The blood drained from her face and she stood, legs shaking, and stared at the man who had been sitting next to her.

Was this really happening? Was she really accepting this theory as an acceptable explanation?

Yes. Yes, she was. And it terrified her even more than she’d thought possible.

“If you’re right… God, I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but then where is Fitz— the Fitz that was in the explosion with me?”

The Fitz she’d spent seven years working with, knew through and through. The Fitz that never crossed lines with her— even when she wanted him to— because he respected her too much and worried about mucking up their friendship and partnership. The Fitz that she spent holidays with, the one who celebrated scientific breakthroughs with a cold beer and argued over which companion was scientifically best for the Doctor, who took selfies with her… that was her Fitz.

The hard truth was that he couldn’t tell her where her Fitz is. If they were incredibly lucky, they only switched places and they’d be able to find a way to simply reverse the process. If not, well… she may just keep ending up with different versions of him as they tear each universe bit by bit trying to get everyone back to where they should be.

The thought that they could carve a path of destruction across not just one, but many, worlds scared him; however, it didn’t compare to the fear he felt when he thought of never seeing his wife again.

It was incredibly selfish, but he couldn’t imagine living in a world where he didn’t wake up next to her, kiss her hello and goodbye, bicker with her, make love to her, or, one day, maybe have the chance to start a family with her.

He had no choice. He had to at least try to get back.

“I dinnae know where he is,” he confessed as he reached for his button-up. It was a cowardly thing to do, but he needed to avoid her eyes. It tugged at his heart in the worst way that he couldn’t guarantee that he’d put this right for them both. “I hope tha’ he an’ I jus’ switched places. But righ’ now, we’re flyin’ blind. I wan’ a look a’ th’ security feed, an’ th’ lab if at all possible.” He stood and finished dressing quickly, eager to begin.

He noticed then that she was just staring at him, incredulous. She also happened to be blocking his path to the door. Moving cautiously, he placed his hands on her shoulders and shifted her slightly to the left so he could squeeze by and exit the claustrophobia-inducing space.

He hadn’t been on the Bus in ages, but his feet moved of their own accord and carried him to the command center. He strode directly to the main terminal and punched in what he remembered as the login he used while on the Bus, mentally crossing his fingers as he presses “enter” and hoping that this version of Fitz had used the same password. He grinned when the tabletop flickered to life, and began searching through the lab’s feed.

He was vaguely aware that Jemma had followed him and was currently watching his progress, leaning against the doorframe as he worked.

“It was this mornin’, yeah?” he queried as his eyes flickered over timestamps. He didn’t wait for her to respond, and scrolled down to the feed marked “0600 UTC,” pressing play when he finally found it. He quickly double-tapped “forward” when he saw nothing more than an empty lab and narrowed his eyes, waiting for some flicker of life on the screen.

It happened at 0824 UTC. He watched as he -- no, the other Fitz, he reminded himself -- entered the lab and began to set up his station. Jemma followed shortly after and settled into her half of the space. He watched as the other Fitz gathered the components necessary to put together new comm chips and began fiddling with the particle accelerator. When Jemma noticed exactly what her partner was up to, she seemed to sit up and scold him from across the workbench. The other Fitz barely looked up, giving her what Fitz imagined was a smart response, before going back to work.

He spotted it then. There was a box tucked beneath the workspace, the kind of box that S.H.I.E.L.D. used to transport dangerous materials. He looked up to see that Jemma had come closer and was now watching the video along side him. He paused the feed and enlarges it so the box that caught his eye takes up the majority of the frame.

“D’ you remember wha’ tha’ is? It doesnae look like it belongs. If it’s new, it very well could be th’ reason for th’ explosion.”

It was strange, seeing him but knowing it wasn’t him. Everything was the same and yet very, very different. He was… bolder, somehow. More forward than her Fitz. Even that felt strange— calling Fitz her Fitz.

It took awhile for her to process this idea, the concept that they had just proven correct. It also took awhile for it to sink in: that in this other timeline, world, or whatever one might call an alternate dimension, that they were married. Well, not her… the other version of her. Which was also a bit mindboggling. Jemma wondered what they had done differently that she and her Fitz had not, that they would end up happily married while she and Fitz were still dancing around anything different and new in their relationship, both of them unwilling to sacrifice the comfort of their friendship for anything more.

He asked her a question but didn’t wait for her to answer, which was achingly familiar, and she moved closer without even meaning to as he sped through the surveillance feed until her Fitz appeared on the screen. She couldn’t help but look between the two of them, trying to itemize their differences - height, hair, eye color, burn marks, freckles - only to find that they’re all the same. If she didn’t know better, she’d say they were the same person. It was just the personalities that were off by a touch, different in the sort of way that blue is still blue no matter how you change the hue, but it’s depth and contrast differing ever so slightly.

She was thrown a little when he asked her about the 0-8-4 simply because she hadn’t been entirely focused on their conversation, and her brain was still lagging due to her concussion.

"That’s the 0-8-4; tesseract tech. We were transporting it, going to drop it off at the next SHIELD station we stopped at. It’s highly volatile." She turned to look at him, putting things together in her mind and drawing up a conclusion.

"You don’t think…" She didn't finish her question, letting it linger in the air between them.

A chill began at the base of his neck and radiated out over his shoulders and down his back as he recalled watching the video footage of the Battle of New York. Loki had brought the Chitauri through a tesseract-induced portal; it absolutely could be what caused their little dilemma.

He can’t believe that he - other Fitz - had been foolish enough to run the particle accelerator while it had been stored beneath the bench, particularly if it was as volatile as Jemma was claiming. He shut down the video screen, taking care to sign out before turning back to her.

“I think it’s time we spoke t’ Coulson an’ th’ rest.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

“You did _WHAT_?”

Fitz flinched at the older man’s tone, trying to back further into his corner of the sofa. There was nowhere for him to go, however, since he was trying to maintain an appropriate amount of distance from Simmons. It was odd. She knew he wasn't who she thought he was, but kept invading his space. It left him flushed and off-balance, and he barely managed to keep his focus on the very irate Coulson standing before him.

“I-- er, we--um, may have inadvertently opened a hole between worlds usin’ a tesseract-based 0-8-4 an’ th’ particle accelerator on th’ Bus. Which we still use where I’m from,” he finished lamely, hoping that impressing upon him the fact that he wasn't actually the Fitz serving under him on the airship would somehow earn him clemency.

His hopes were quickly dashed.

“Fix it, FitzSimmons! I have Director Fury breathing down my neck wondering what in the hell my science team did to blow a gigantic hole in what is essentially a brand-new airship, and I have a team of junior engineers who are without their _actual_ boss to guide them through the repair process! We’re lucky they’ve managed to keep up airborne for the time being. You two are _still_ the brightest scientific minds that S.H.I.E.L.D. has put into the field. Get switched back before I _actually_ have to explain everything to Command.”

With that, Coulson turned on his heel and walked out of the lounge, effectively ending the meeting. Fitz felt himself deflate, and he leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees, to cover his face with his hands. He couldn’t even conceive of where he should begin, and felt himself going into a tailspin.

“It’s so bizarre. He looks exactly like our--”

“That’s enough, Skye. Down to the gym. Let’s go.”

He chuffed out a small, disbelieving laugh. At least Skye and Ward seemed to be the same here as they were back home. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, hoping that would shake off the proverbial rust and allow him to concentrate. Once he felt slightly more centered, he raised his eyes to look around the space. It was nearly identical to their lounge on the Bus, but with a few more sofas and an actual full-sized kitchen. Simmons was still beside him, silent and apprehensive, watching his every reaction.

He found her eyes to be the most disquieting thing about this different version of Jemma. Everything about her was the same: same smile, same nose, same hair... but her eyes struck him as different. The color was perfect, a warm golden hue that he’d be content to gaze into far longer than a friend and partner should, but it was what lurked behind them that gave him pause. There was a softness there, a care and longing that he had never seen in them before, and it made his heart ache powerfully.

He broke away when it became too much, and stared down at his own fingers as they fluttered nervously before him.

“D’ you have any ideas, Simmons? Because I’m at a complete an’ total loss.”

It was entirely unnerving, watching him— sitting next to him. Every movement, every facial expression, even the way he sighs: short little gasp of air in and long push out was exactly like her husband’s. It took an enormous amount of brainpower to wrap her head around the fact that he truly was not her husband. Jemma noticed it most when he was interacting with the others that the little nuances that are off: the way he stumbled over a word here or there and the set of his shoulders was suddenly very different than her Leo. As much as it was unnerving for him to be similar, it was even more unnerving to see the differences… Like watching the _what if_ of life actually occurring.

It might have been selfish, but Jemma found herself incredibly thankful she was living her life and not the other Jemma’s.

She had her Leo, knew all of the small, intimate things that the other Jemma couldn’t have a clue about: the feel of his skin and the texture of his lips and the little sounds he made when he came undone beneath her mouth or hands. But what she was truly thankful for knowing— what was making her ache inside with grief and worry— was that she knew what it was like to have his complete companionship. Not just the time spent in the lab, building and designing, but everything outside of the lab: the quiet moments of sharing tea in the morning, the way he arranged his ties in their shared closet, the way he brushed his teeth with his mouth open and flecks of toothpaste flying everywhere, the fact that though he loved to cuddle up to her in their he  usually ended up on his side facing away from her. That was _her_ husband, _her_ Leo.

Jemma desperately wanted him back.

Guilt pricked her conscience when this Leo asked her if she had any ideas because she knew it wasn’t really his fault, that he and the other Jemma hadn’t known what the tesseract tech combined with the particle accelerator was capable of. And no matter which Fitz he was, he was still Fitz. She found it rather odd but she couldn’t help but feeling like she loved him, too. Not necessarily the way she loved her husband, but even before the two of them had moved past friendship and into a relationship, they’d been friends and partners who’d been completely dedicated to each other. Because of that, Jemma would always feel a little tug on her heart for Leo Fitz. Even if he wasn’t the one she’d known her entire adult life.

She suddenly realized that he was staring at her, staring at him, and her cheeks went pink as she blinked to reorient herself to focus on the question at hand.

"The only thing I can think of is that in order to create that level of fluidity between… worlds? Universes? Whatever you want to call it, is to do so artificially. Obviously, we can’t blow another hole in the airship, and the particle accelerator we had is only going to be of use as shrapnel. So how exactly can we create that much energy, without the explosion, and do so inorganically? We’d need a catalyst of some sort, but finding one with that much potentiality… Hmm…"

He knew she was right the minute the words are out of her mouth. There was no easy way to recreate what had been a colossal and near-deadly mistake. Fitz shuddered at the thought that he should be a smear on the floor of the lab before turning his mind back to the problem of finding an energy source with that much power. There was only one place where S.H.I.E.L.D. kept all of their potentially dangerous materials.

“Wha’ about th’ Fridge?” The question was out of his mouth before he stopped to think about the fact that the Fridge may not be the Fridge here. For all he knew, there was no S.H.I.E.L.D. center of operations in Canada in this world. “If… if i’s anythin’ like home, tha’s where any tesseract tech will be. We’ll need it, given it’s th’ only thing likely t’ cause th’ jump.”

He chewed his lip as he looked at her, waiting for any sign of censure in her eyes. He felt as though he was absolutely out of his mind, heart racing and limbs bouncing with excess energy, but Simmons, she seemed oddly calm. The Simmons he knew would have been a nervous wreck, practically jumping out of her skin until they were able to come up with a solution. This woman before him, she just kept her gaze on him, steady and focused, as he tried to work through what was in his head.

Her eyes were too intense, too kind, too hopeful, and he forced himself to look away, focusing on the floor instead.

For some odd reason, his attention drifted to the picture on her nightstand, the one where a man who looked exactly like him was wrapped around her, the pair of them kissing, grinning against each other’s mouths, and happy. He felt a familiar ache start up in his chest, the one that plagued him whenever Simmons touched him unexpectedly, or smiled just for him, or, worst of all, when she struck up a new flirtation and he had to suffer through watching it.

A horrific thought occurred to him just then, causing his heart to sink further into his stomach.

What if in his world, Simmons hadn’t realized that the Fitz with her wasn’t him? What if he, the other Fitz, was able to do what Fitz himself hadn’t yet managed? It wasn’t that outlandish a thought, after all, he’d done it once before with this Simmons. He moved his gaze back to her, eyes sullen as he took her in, from the crown of her perfectly coiffed head to her scuffed Chuck Taylors.

Fitz suddenly came to his senses.

There was no way in hell any version of Leopold Fitz would jump into bed with someone when he was married to any version of Jemma Simmons. He sure as hell knew he wouldn’t. There was also no earthly way his Jemma wouldn’t call shenanigans if one day, out of the clear blue sky, he attempted to get her into bed.

Fitz felt his heart return to its proper place in his chest, and he was able to finish his earlier thought.

“D’ they still have th’ discarded Projec’ P.E.G.A.S.U.S. materials there, too? It would certainly be a place t’ star’ if we’re lookin’ for a power source.”

She felt his sudden tension, the contraction of his muscles for a moment, but then whatever he must have been thinking of fell from his face and he relaxed just as quickly. He was full of pent up motion, jittery and twitching, another indication that this was not her Fitz. She chose to ignore it, knowing it must be either a bit of awkwardness at her having eyed him for too long or just his natural state.

She made a mental note: do not stare.

"I don’t have any recollection of a Pegasus project, but we did have a case a while ago that involved a rather unstable force field generator. It was crude, nothing like the designs you make— I mean— Oh, you know what I mean. Anyways, it wasn’t a portal but it generated enough energy to garner a S.H.I.E.L.D response. It still might require a pretty intense catalyst to produce the same level of energy of tesseract tech, but I’m at a total and complete loss for any ideas regarding that. Come on, let’s go down to our lab —my— lab, not the one you— he— blew a hole in. I think I still have the schematics of the force field somewhere." She stood, stretching herself a little to ease the muscles in her back and shoulders before she realized how close she was to him and took a little step back, wanting to give him the room he seemed to need.

She guided him through the airship, past the kitchen and the living area to the lift, fingers pressing the button for the lowest level before turning to him.

"The tech is most definitely at The Fridge. I think Coulson already has us en route… We shifted flight paths while we were talking." The lift stopped and the doors pull open, but she didn’t take her eyes off Fitz. She wanted to see his face when he saw this lab, knowing that if he and the other Simmons were still on the Bus, he wouldn’t be expecting what he was about to see.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

It was the entire level.

It was also state of the art, even more cutting edge than what was technically legal, but that was the benefit of working for S.H.I.E.L.D. She hadn’t protested when they’d filled up the space with equipment she knew was more valuable than her life. Also, the look on her husband’s face when he’d seen it had made it an easy decision to sign the confidentiality agreement, signing away her rights to ever discuss the use of the equipment and tech with a soft smile. He’d been downright awestruck, walking around the spacious beautiful lab with his fingers grazing surfaces and his mouth slightly ajar. The memory made her smile.

That was how she knew this Fitz would appreciate it.

He forgot to be uncomfortable under her gaze as soon as the lift doors opened.

Even with the fresh scorch marks marring the walls, it was absolutely beautiful. There was tech he hadn't even conceived of,  and the lab was so large, he couldn’t see the entire space.  It occurred to him that it must take up the entire level, and he had to force himself to walk, not run, around the lab to see everything.

There was a dissection bay for Simmons,  along with what looked to be an infectious diseases containment area and a chemistry lab outfitted with anything she could ever want. He found the metallurgy workshop, outfitted with all of his favorite tools, along with a test concepts lab and a drafting room.

It was breathtaking, and Fitz momentarily forgot to miss his Simmons and the Bus as he explored.

On his second pass, he noticed the highly experimental nature of some of the equipment; after a careful inspection,  he recognized the hallmarks of his own work, wire arrangements, the pattern of the soldering, all exactly the way he would do it.

He shuddered involuntarily,  unnerved at the realization that not only was this technology not even capable of being created in his world,  but some version of himself had in fact created it.

It also occurred to him that they must have been promoted at some point,  and had a staff of scientists working beneath them given all of the space. There was no way a team of two could handle it all alone. Her calm,  collected demeanor suddenly made sense: this Jemma was a department head, a team leader in her own right here, along with her husband.

He turned to meet not-his Simmons' eyes.  She seemed pleased by his reaction,  yet apprehensive as well, as if she was wondering what way he'd jump next.

He raked his fingers through his unruly curls, looking around one last time before turning back to her.

"Th' sooner we get t' th' Fridge th' better," he told her. "I cannae imagine how pissed he is t' be away from all this an' back on th' Bus."

She knew he didn’t mean to but his words cut deep, right into the little ache in her heart that was missing her husband terribly. She was worried, a bit scared, and felt at an absolute loss as to how they were going to fix this. Because she just couldn’t imagine her life without her Leo, couldn’t imagine trying to lead the team of junior scientists that were up on the 4th level right trying to solve this conundrum right at that moment without him beside her. He was such a part of her on so many levels, not just a partner in the lab but in life, and had been for so long that she couldn’t remember when they weren’t partners to some degree.

She had to turn away from him, finding that she couldn’t look at him in that moment because he was so familiar yet so different, and her chest was aching with sudden grief. Her Fitz couldn’t be dead; she’d know it, as impossible as it seemed, if he were.

She took a deep, steadying breath in and pushed back the emotions threatening to spill over, wiped her eyes quickly and straightened her shoulders with resolve. He might not be her Leo, but he was still some sort of Leo and that meant he’s bloody brilliant. They would figure this out. She turned back to him with a small smile on her face.

"Yes, I imagine he’s a little disappointed to not have this over… Wherever he is." Her voice caught a little on the wherever but she pressed forward, hoping that he would ignore it if she did.

"So, what do you think about using the field generator? I was thinking if I could come up with an organic catalyst— something responsive to an electric charge— that it might be able to mimic the properties of an organic reaction even with an artificial energy source. It would have to be bolstered by something that could stand the level of energy we’re talking about though… I don’t know that I have anything with that level of chemical stability here in the lab right now, but I’m sure the Fridge has something. If not, Coulson get it for us. Working for S.H.I.E.L.D. does have its benefits…"

Fitz heard the hitch of sadness in her voice, and guilt crept back into his chest, edging out his wonderment at the state of the art lab. Her mention of the field generator got his attention though and his brain began to toy with the idea.

He made his way back to the drafting room, quickly locating the drawer where other-Fitz kept his blueprints. It was frightening how easily he found everything, but he supposed that it couldn’t be helped, and at least it would aid him in his work. He pulled out the sketch of the original device, along with several updated designs, and laying them out, found the file codes in the lower right corner, right where he knew they’d be. Making note of them, he hurried back to where he’d left Simmons, and finding the holotable, quickly turned it on, punched in the codes, and pulled up the sketches.

Fitz separated them out, the original and three updated designs, and enlarged them so they could both take a closer look.

“It looks like your husban’ was already workin’ on stabilizin’ th’ design,” he began as he moved between the different blueprints, biting his lower lip as his eyes skimmed over each one until he found what he wanted. He pulled the third design to the front and spun it so they could have a better view of the bottom. “I think I can create a spot for th’ tesserac’ tech here. Tha’ should give us th’ power we need t’ recreate th’ initial reaction. Hopefully, between tha’ an’ this design, we can do this without killin’ us all.”

It was such a simple solution that it actually took her by surprise, both for the fact that he spotted it so quickly and that her Leo hadn’t. It made her pause, staring at the man that looked identical to her husband but wasn’t. He was looking at her questioningly, as if he were afraid she was going to do something he couldn’t predict or was too unprepared for.

 

She smiled at him, hoping to reassure him but also not wanting to infringe on the boundaries he seemed to require. The other Simmons-- the other version of herself-- must have had the patience of a saint. She couldn’t really imagine any version of herself not in love with him, so there must have been some level of unrequited feelings on her end. Jemma would put money on it. Shaking herself and focusing back in on the moment, she peered at the area Fitz had highlighted.  

 

“That’s bloody _brilliant_.”

 

She turned the hologram so she could look at properly, trying to find a place for a catalyst.

 

“If we remove this small generator here, we should be able to put in a mechanism that could ignite the catalyst. It won’t need the generator, not with the tesseract tech. I’m still worried about controlling the tech though-- it’s unstable. It’s always been unstable. That’s why we never kept it in the lab. Even if it doesn’t kill us, who’s to say it will create the exact same reaction? I mean, think about it, Fitz, what if we do this and instead of where you want to end up, you end up somewhere completely different? If we’ve just proven Everett correct, there’s more than the just two worlds we’re fiddling with here. This is dangerous. I’m not saying I don’t want to try - I want my husband back - but I am saying it’s volatile and dangerous. How can we know we’re not going to do something that will have major repercussions not just here or there but across the entire wavelength?”

 

Now that she had said it, she couldn’t stop thinking and hypothesizing about all of the horrific consequences of what they were about to do. Images of worlds or timelines being obliterated or simply ceasing to exist, or being damaged beyond repair floated through her mind.

 

What was she willing to risk to get her husband back? And what was Fitz-- this Fitz-- willing to risk to get back home?

 

She looked more like his Simmons now than she did before, slightly frantic and biting her lower lip as she floated the hypothesis that they could be destroying multiple worlds. Truth be told, Fitz had had the same thought, and feared that it wouldn’t be as easy as a simple switch between the two of them. No, it was entirely likely that multiple Leopold Fitzes could materialize outside of their proper worlds. However, he refused to put voice to the thought if only to keep Jemma as calm as possible. He scrubbed his right hand across his face, eventually resting it on his chin as he tapped two fingers against his lips, deep in thought.

 

“It seems t’ me tha’ when Loki was usin’ th’ tesserac’ t’ open his portals, it was dependent on his thoughts. If he thought it, it happened. If, an’ i’s a big if, we can use th’ field generator t’ harness th’ tesserac’, as long as I can focus on gettin’ back t’ my world, Jemma an’ th’ Bus an’ our team, it should’ take me where I wan’ t’ go.”

 

He let out the breath he’d been holding. He’d been watching Jemma as he laid out his ideas, and she appeared to be even more skeptical than she had before. He supposed that now was as good a time as any to drop his other bombshell of a thought on her.

 

“An’ all this is supposin’ tha’ your husban’, wherever he is, isnae tryin’ t’ ge’ back t’ you. We have no way t’ know how tha’ could impact wha’ i’ is we’re tryin’ t’ do here.”

 

He saw her face fall at the mention of her husband trying to get back to her, and against his better judgment, Fitz moved to stand next to her, his shoulder brushing hers. It was an odd sensation, standing this close to her and knowing he didn’t have to worry about giving too much of himself away. With his Simmons, he’d always worried that she’d see through him, would know what he wanted from her, and so he held back the slightest bit. This version has her husband, so there was nothing to give away. It was oddly liberating.

 

“Dinnae doub’ for a second tha’ he’s tryin’ t’ get back t’ you. I --” he faltered, unsure of how much to say before deciding to press on. “I woul’ give anythin’ t’ be back with Jemma, my Jemma, in our lab on th’ Bus. An’ I hate th’ bloody Bus a good ninety percent’ o’ th’ time.” He gave her a smile as he nudged her with his shoulder. “I’s jus’ one more complication in an already fucked plan, Simmons. I’s nothin’ we can do about it, so let’s jus’ press on. We need t’ prep this field generator before we reach th’ Fridge anyway.”

 

~*~*~

 

“So, you don’t even know if this plan would work? You could just blow another damn hole in the side of the plane, and that’d be it?”

 

Fitz braced his hands on the table in the command center, clenching his jaw as he stared down this version of Grant Ward.

 

He and Ward had a mutual agreement; the man didn’t always understand him, but trusted him as one of two senior scientists on the airship to get things done. Generally, he stayed out of his and Jemma’s way when it came to science. This Ward, apparently, was in the habit of questioning everything. He shot a look at his non-wife to gauge her reaction. She seemed surprised by the specialist’s vehemence, and Fitz felt some of the tension drain from him as he realized that Ward’s reaction has less to do with disliking him and was simply his reaction to finding that the man before him was not actually his teammate.

 

“Look,” he began once he’d gotten himself back under control. He tapped a rough sketch he’d uploaded into the system, enlarging it and swiping it onto the large screen on the far wall. “We can use this design t’ control th’ reaction. I’s a generator I was tryin’ t’ make personal shields, bu’ it should create enough energy to open a portal. I can design it around th’ tesserac’ material you already have on board, which should open a portal. It should be small enough tha’ we can control it, which means I willnae blow another hole in your precious Bus.”

 

Ward stared back, his eyes hard.

 

“But there are still no guarantees.”

 

“No, there willnae be a guarantee,” he agreed, well aware of the angry edge to his voice but unable to stop it as he pushed away from the table and moved towards the taller man. He was tired and frustrated and all he wanted was his bed, his wife, and maybe a cup of tea. He certainly didn’t want to be here arguing when he could be working toward a solution.

 

Coulson stepped in, heading off an argument that seemed more than ready to come to blows.

 

“Ward, May, go clear us for landing at the Fridge. We’re not going to do this while we’re in the air again.” His voice was firm, and May and Ward stalked off toward the cockpit to do as they’d been asked. Coulson turned to him then, eyes serious. “Do what you need to do to bring Fitz back to us. He’s needed here.” Fitz noticed that the older man’s eyes darted to Simmons before coming back to him. “Fix this.”

 

He left, taking Skye with him, and Fitz felt himself deflate, his head hanging low.

 

“Wha’ th’ hell does he think I’m tryin’ t’ do?” he muttered into the floor, more for his own sake than anything else. He’d never felt so alone in the world, and tears pricked the corners of his eyes as a fresh wave of longing for his wife broke over him.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Jemma felt her heart clench a little at his words, at the way his head dropped in reaction to Coulson’s harsh response. This whole situation was so outrageous, so incomprehensible for all of them that they’d all nearly forgotten that he was in a completely foreign place, with people that were the same and yet weren’t the same at all. She could tell that he wasn’t expecting Ward to react the way he had, the set of his shoulders pulling tighter as he’d spoken to the man in an icy-cold tone. It was another reminder of how different he was than her Fitz…

She wondered for a moment if she should leave him be for a bit, let him try to recover a little but she just couldn’t. She moved to stand next to him, hand reaching for his shoulder, but pulled it back before touching him. She didn’t know what she should do, or shouldn’t do… What he might take as too personal or too distant.

“He’s just worried. It’s how he is. We want our Fitz back, and I know you want to get home to your wi— Simmons.” She reached out for him then, hand curling around his shoulder and giving a little flex of reassurance. At least, she hoped he took it as such.

“This should work. It’s really quite ingenious, actually. I guess no matter what version of him you are, you’re always brilliant.” She doesn’t know if she should call him “him” or “you”, because it was all a bit jumbled and still confusing in her mind: the idea of more than one Fitz.

But no matter how many versions there were of him, somehow he seemed to have ended up being beside her in one way or another. It was comforting and thrilling at the same time to realize that her life was so intertwined with his that even multiple cosmos couldn’t separate the two of them.

 

The touch on his shoulder was so familiar, so similar to his wife’s, that it caused a bolt of pain to shoot through his heart. Fitz was near to panic over the idea of never seeing her again, and the frustration of dealing with a team that didn’t fully trust him only compounded his worry that this would go terribly, terribly wrong. The one bright spot was that Jemma--Simmons-- still trusted him to know what he was doing. She was reassuring and doting, if a bit distant, and he briefly wondered why that was. Jemma had never been quite that distant from him, even before they had given in and admitted their attraction for one another. Fitz shook his head, giving her a tight-lipped smile and a small nod as he moved on from that train of thought.

 

He needed to get to work. The sooner he got to work, the sooner he could get home.

 

Without saying anything, he turned his attention back to the computer, sending all of the files relevant to the project down to his lab station before turning back to her.

 

“Let’s get down t’ th’ lab, yeah?” he suggested, meeting her eyes and trying to keep his voice upbeat. He had learned, working with skittish young scientists fresh from the Academy, that he had to keep his tone pleasant. It never came easily to him, but Jemma said he was getting better at it, and he hoped that it would ease the tension he could see creeping into the woman before him. She gave him a shaky smile in return before following him down to the cargo area.

 

They worked quickly, and Fitz was secretly pleased that he could work well with any version of Jemma. They finished gathering all of the parts and materials needed to build the field generator and left them on the main workbench; the only component they didn’t touch was the tesseract-powered tech that was now stored in the vault at the back of the lab. He planned to leave that for last, since he didn’t intend to blow himself - or Simmons - to kingdom come anytime soon.

 

She helped him gather a few things, pointed out where certain parts and tools were, but for the most part Simmons just observed him as he worked. It was another similarity she shared with his wife, who often would just sit and chat with him as he built his latest prototype and she waited for her latest culture to develop. Fitz embraced the opportunity to learn a little more about what life was like here for the other version of himself. And, all right, if he was being perfectly honest, he was curious to know what the other him was like. He decided to go for broke.

 

“So,” he began, laying out the parts for the base design for the shield generator as he spoke, “have I worked up th’ nerve t’ ask you ou’ yet, or am I still ditherin’ abou’ th’ whole thing?” He looked up, fixing her eyes with his and cocking an eyebrow at her as he set the sides of the case into what would be the base.

 

They worked well together despite the undercurrent of awkwardness between them, trying to be respectful of each other but at the same time slipping into the familiarity that they had with the other versions of their partners. There was not much she could do at this point but simply assist him, direct him to where the necessary tools and supplies were, and wait for him to ask her a question.

 

She wasn’t expecting the question he ended up asking and she could feel heat flood her cheeks at his remark, the nervousness back in her belly and a skittishness settling in her bones. He was certainly direct.

 

“Um, well, I don’t think Fitz-- this Fitz, my Fitz, I mean-- thinks of me that way. He’s always been rather… reserved when it comes to that sort of thing.” She was terrible at this sort of thing - she much preferred chemical equations and dissections than anything to do with relationships. It was part of the reason why she hadn’t dated much - or at all - when she’d been at the Academy and Sci-Ops. The other part, the part that she often shoved down and willfully ignored most of the time, was because she was already half in love with Fitz before they’d graduated, and now she just couldn’t imagine what being with anyone else would feel like. Over the years, she’d accepted that he didn’t feel the same, that he might love her but strictly as friends and nothing more. It had been difficult at first, but she’d grown accustomed to it and she was content with living beside him in the lab as partners, the way they always had been. She didn’t need more, not when she was happy here with him… At least, that’s what she told herself when doubt crept in that someday she was going to be old and grey, looking back on her life and realize how much she’d missed out on by choosing the work and the solitude of unrequited love over moving on and a new beginning.

 

She smiled at him, trying to hide her thoughts behind her cheery eyes and appear more like the confident woman she wanted to be, tried to be when her Fitz was around.

 

The look she was giving him tugged at his heartstrings. It was the look his wife wore when there was bad news she was reluctant to share: false cheer meant to soothe everyone’s anxiety but her own. Given that their situation likely couldn’t get any more dire, he took it to mean that the version of himself that this Jemma had to live with was apparently as much a dunce as he once was. He couldn’t help the little chuckle that escaped him when he thought of it.

 

“Lass,” the endearment, typically only used with his wife, slipped out without his thinking about it, “if he’s anythin’ like I was, he’s ditherin’ about how t’ ask you. Jemma, she…” he trailed off, noticing the rapt attention with which she’d fixed him. He wondered if telling her this was cheating somehow, if it would set the universe on its ear in some odd way, but Fitz pushed the thought away as he thought of his wife and their happiness. This woman deserved some of that, too, and unless he was a complete git the Leo she’d always known should be capable of providing that. Besides, it was an entirely different universe; it wasn’t as if he’d be upsetting a single timeline. Fitz set down the welding torch he’d been fiddling with and gestured to a far corner of the lab, near the rear storage closet where the chemical supplies are stored.

 

“Tha’s where she kissed me th’ firs’ time. Jemma, she knew I wouldnae ge’ roun’ t’ it quickly enough, so one day as I’m puttin’ away th’ bloody chemicals she’d been usin’, min’ you, she grabs me by th’ lapels o’ my lab coat and kisses me. I nearly dropped a beaker full o’ acid down us both.”

 

He grinned at the memory even as a fresh wave of yearning for his wife washed over him, and picked up the pair of safety goggles she’d gotten him. He placed them on top of his head and pulled on an apron and gloves before picking up the torch once more. He noticed that the blood had drained from her face entirely and she looked horrified, presumably at the thought that she’d been that forward with her lab partner even if it had taken place in another universe. He sighed and caught her eye.

 

“I’m no’ sayin’ you need t’ snog him as soon as he get’s back. Jus’ dinnae be afraid o’ him. I’d wager tha’ he’s tryin’ t’ find a way back t’ you as we speak. An’ be patient wit’ him, while you’re a’ it. I had trouble believin’ she’d kissed me, bu’ when th’ Bus landed in Florence two days later, I took her on a proper date. I jus’ needed a push. The Fitz you kno’ likely needs tha’, too.” He pulled down his goggles and fired up the torch.

 

“Give me an hour, an’ I’ll have a prototype we can test t’ see if this is actually viable.”

 

With that, he turned his attention to the project at hand, the memories of his first date with his wife and what was waiting for him back home motivating him to work as quickly as possible.

 

The idea of being bold enough to grab Fitz by the collar of his lab coat to kiss him was… well, it was rather enticing, if she were honest. But it was also fear inducing, the reaction he might have and she wasn’t sure she could risk their friendship, despite the assurance from this Fitz that he’d welcome it.

 

She’d thought of it before. She’d wondered what it would do to them if she’d just laid down her goggles, strode over to where he was sitting on his computer and kiss him hard on the lips. She’d thought of it when they’d been younger too, when they’d had study nights that left them drowsy and half out of their minds, bent over textbooks and notebooks. She’d wondered what would happen if she just shoved the textbooks out of his hands, pressed herself onto his lap to curl around him and tenderly kiss the worry off his face. She’d even been close once, in the beginning here on the Bus, when he’d been stressing about a solution to the problem with the Night-Night Gun… But then, she’d overheard a conversation between him and Skye, the teasing nervous tone of his voice - one he never used with her - and it settled over her that he simply didn’t feel that way about her. So she’d put it back in the corner of her mind, grateful just for the moments and relationship they already had. She wasn’t willing to risk their partnership, their friendship, their work, their easy way around each other for her own selfishness.

 

She gave this Fitz a smile as he set back to the machinery in front of him and nodded at his request for an hour, moving to make for her side of the lab, when she stopped and twisted around slightly to look at him.

 

“You’re wrong, you know… I don’t know what’s different for you and your Jemma. But it’s not the same here, with my Fitz.” She just needed him to know it, needed him to be aware that not every version of himself was in love with her or wanted to be with her, and that it was okay. What they had already was more important anyways.

 

He arched his brow at her, forgetting that she couldn’t see it through the protective goggles he was currently wearing. He was 90% certain he could prove it to her, that he knew the file names this other Fitz would use when he wanted to write down and then hide his personal thoughts, but he refrained. There was an outside chance Jemma was right, but he found it seriously unlikely. He settled for a sarcastic chuckle.

 

"Then you're as daf' as he is, I’d wager. But suit yourself. One hour.”

 

With that, he settled in to work, mentally drafting the letter he planned on leaving behind as he did so.

 

~*~*~

 

After two days of locking themselves into the labs at the Fridge, they had a working product.

 

And it worked like a bloody dream, the shield generator directing the energy of the tesseract perfectly causing a neat little rip in space that was just large enough to step through. The best part was that it worked for each member of the team that tried it; all they had to do is grab the device, think about where exactly they wanted to go, and the portal appeared.

 

Both Fitz and Simmons tried to explain the science when Coulson asked, but after the second runthrough of theoretical physics, Coulson made his usual demand for English and any in-depth explanation was forgotten. The team was just happy that they managed to prove it safe when May took hold of the device, imagined the Bus, and Ward was able to walk through unharmed.

 

The only risk now was that it couldn’t jump universes the way they’d like, but that was a risk they’d have to take. It was a risk Fitz was more than willing to take to get back home. He’d gathered his meager belongings, had said his goodbyes, and now stood in a nearly empty lab ready to try to get home. Simmons was to his right, fidgeting near the control panel; he’d have to start it up to focus the energy, but she would need to monitor it, make sure it was stable and stayed open long enough for the other Fitz to pass back through.

 

His gut clenched as he turned to her, ready to say goodbye. She wasn’t his Jemma, but she may be the last one he’d ever get to see, so Fitz took his time, really looking at her, in case he wound up somewhere without any Jemma at all. He gave her a nervous smile before finding the ability to speak.

 

“So, anythin’ I shoul’ hear before I go? Any messages for th’ other you?”

 

Jemma looked at him, debating how and what to say what she was thinking. The last two days had been enlightening, allowing her the opportunity to watch him in action unimpeded and listen to the way he’d talk to her about the other Jemma. She’d asked questions, trying to get little nuggets of information from him gradually and it had quickly become clear to her that even if he wasn’t  aware of it himself, he was in love with the other version of her.

 

She was also going to be sad to see him go, no matter how anxious she was to have her husband back. And she really, really wanted him back. But this Fitz had worked his way into her heart, too, and she decided then that a simple goodbye wasn’t enough and made her way over to him.

 

She rested her hands on each of his shoulders and leaned in, gracing both of his cheeks with a kiss and smiled at the shock on his face.

 

“You should hear that I’ll miss you. And that-- don’t hate me for this-- you need to get it together and go after your Jemma. You’re bloody in love with her and you can’t even see it. Tell the other me to stop waiting around for you to make a move.” She stepped back from him and released his shoulders.

 

“If you see my husband, tell him I love him and I’m waiting for him.” She had to look away then, before she let any emotions seep through her words and returned to the control panel she’d been standing at.

 

"Oh, one other thing: tell your Jemma if Skye ever offers to take her out for a night on the town to run. Run far and fast, because that girl can drink any version of me under the table. I'm saving her some trouble."

 

He was still a tad flustered by the fact that she had kissed him, even if it was just on the cheeks, so it took Fitz a moment to process what she had said. His instant reaction was denial.

 

“I- I- I’m no’ in love wit’ Simmons-” The skeptical look she shot him choked off any other protest he might have managed. He took a deep breath and forced himself to look her in the eye. “All righ’, perhaps I am in love wit’ her. Bu’ she doesnae feel th’ same. All she wants is a partner in th’ lab, otherwise she wouldnae be givin’ guys like Ward an’ Peterson th’ eye.” He swallowed heavily and fidgeted, uncomfortable with where this conversation had gone. It figured that he, of all people, could put his foot in his mouth when it came to a simple goodbye. “I promise t’ try if th’ opportunity presents itself. An’ if I see your husban’, I’ll tell him you’re waitin’ on him t’ get home. As for warnin’ Simmons abou’ Skye… well tha’ just seems like comedy gold in th’ makin’. I cannae make any promises t’ you there.”

 

He gave her a shaky smile and stepped up to the control panel, focusing on where he wanted to go: home, to the Bus and Simmons and their odd-yet-perfect mobile laboratory. He thought about the last fight they had (who was responsible for clearing the glassware from the sanitizer), beating Ward and Skye during their last board game night, and the quietness of sharing a cuppa late at night as they wrote up lab reports. He thought of May’s stoicism, Ward’s protective streak, and Coulson and Skye’s quick wit, but most of his thoughts of his life on the Bus centered around Jemma.

 

Feeling as certain as he could, he flipped the correct sequences of switches and watched as a pinpoint of blue light appeared before him and slowly expanded to become large enough to allow a man to pass through. He thought he saw a glimpse of a familiar lab past the bluish haze, and he used that to brace himself as he approached it.

 

Simmons, the other Fitz’ wife, had stepped into his place at the controls, making sure that it was safe for him to pass through. She looked up, her eyes locking on his, and gave him a small, encouraging nod, a mixture of hope and fear in her eyes. Moving quickly, before he could lose his nerve, he returned her nod and stepped through the portal.

 

If she didn’t know that it didn’t exist, never had and never would, she would say it was almost like magic to watch him walk through the portal. It was science, something he’d created, and it could be explained easily, but watching him vanish was enough to make her question the logic of it all.

 

It was then that it settled on her: in this exact moment she was living in a world, a timeline, a universe--whatever it was-- without any Fitz. It nearly knocked her off her feet, the idea that he could just simply cease to exist for her… Both of them: her husband Fitz and the other Fitz. They could be on the other side of the open portal and she might never see either of them again. She was sorely tempted to run then, to forget managing the control panel and just go where she knew Fitz was. But the faith she had in her husband, the faith in him that he was trying just as hard as this Fitz had to get home stilled her and pulled her back into focus.

 

He wouldn’t sit idly by. He wouldn’t simply accept being separated from her, no matter the circumstances and technology at his disposal.

 

She just had to wait. Wait, and hope he remembered that they have a date to tour [Sophia-Antipoli](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sophia-Antipolis)s in two days.

 

He couldn’t miss it; she’s certainly wouldn’t be going without him.  

 

He was leaning over the lab bench, putting the finishing touches on the letters, one for the other Fitz and one for his wife (in case anything went wrong), when the gateway appeared. It was a small point of bluish light at first, then slowly expanded. Fitz immediately recognized the glow of tesseract technology and sprang into action.

 

“Simmons! Simmons, ge’ in here, somethin’s happenin’!”

 

He was quickly gathering the few things he’d accumulated in his short stay in this universe when she came scrambling down the stairs and skidded to a halt next to him. While he thought he knew what was going on, Fitz wasn’t so certain that he was comfortable leaving Simmons exposed, so he angled his body in front of hers and waited to see what would happen next.

 

What actually occurred was the strangest experience in his life: he watched himself step through the gateway.

 

The man before him was a perfect copy of his own features, and it chilled Fitz to realize he was looking at himself without the aid of a mirror. Behind him, through the gate, he caught a glimpse of what looked like a laboratory, a large one, and the vague figure of what appeared to be a woman fidgeting behind a console of some sort. His heart leapt into his throat as he approached the rip in time and space, not stopping to think of his own safety, only that he knew that it was his wife waiting and he needed to get home to her.

 

He barely took the space of a breath to pause and look the other him in the eye before slapping the  letter labeled “Fitz” to his chest and telling him, “You’re a bloody idiot. Read th’ letter, then do wha’ you will, bu’ kno’ you’re a fool if you dinnae at leas’ take her ou’ for one date.”

 

With that, he was through the gateway and headed straight for his wife.

 

It was an odd sensation, knowing that in the space of three feet he’d crossed between universes, but Fitz didn’t stop to contemplate it. As soon as his vision cleared from the blue haze of the tesseract, he broke into a sprint, headed straight for Jemma. Fortunately, she sidestepped the instrument panel and met him halfway, flinging herself into him. He caught her, holding her tightly even as her momentum carried them around.

 

“God, I missed you, lass,” he whispered into her neck before kissing her deeply, just enjoying the familiar feeling of having her pressed to him, and her perfume as it washed over him. He pulled away, and noticing her tears, brushed his thumbs along her cheeks to clear them away. “Thank you for bringin’ me home.”

Tears streamed down her face, the joy of having him back too overwhelming to stifle down and she eagerly returned his kiss, almost laughing into his mouth at her giddiness for having him back.

“Leo, oh God, of course. Of course!” She said as she held his face in her hands, dropping kisses down on him between each word. It hadn’t really been her, but it didn’t matter now.

He was home, he was safe, and she was bloody going to kill him for using the particle accelerator in mid-air.

Later.

She’d kill him later. After she was done kissing him.

~*~

Jemma was frozen in place, a hand covering her mouth as she watched the two of them face each other for one brief second. It was so bizarre, so unreal, that she almost felt outside herself. But then her eyes caught movement through the blue light of the tear in time and space and she saw herself.

It set her body to shaking. As much as she’d accepted that what they’d supposedly done, the supposedly had always been there. But now… Now there was no doubt. There were other universes or timelines, other versions of her— one she’d just seen— and it was almost too much for even her genius brain to grasp.

Fitz— the other Fitz— stepped through the blue light almost immediately, leaving her and her Fitz— just Fitz now, she though to watch him before the blue-ish light closed in and vanished into nothingness.

They watched themselves run into each other's arms and saw them kiss heatedly before they were gone from view. Jemma could feel the heat crawl up her chest and flame through her face as she turned to look at Fitz.

It was strange. She’d seen a version of him for the last few days, but she hadn’t seen him and it was like she was home again, everything right once more. She smiled at him and at the look he wore.

“Welcome back.”

His heart was racing, the combination of the fear of passing through the portal, the strangeness of meeting himself (however briefly), and the oddly voyeuristic thrill of watching two perfect copies of himself and Simmons kiss sending him into overdrive.

She was the most beautiful thing he’d seen, because she was his partner, his teammate, his Jemma. Suddenly, her simple, “Welcome back,” didn’t suffice, and so he set down the letter that had been handed to him, crossed the few feet that lay between them, and enveloped her in a tight hug. She felt good pressed to his chest, her smell back to her normal perfume and not whatever the other Simmons had been wearing.

His mind drifted to the other woman, what she had said to him and how eagerly she had kissed the other Fitz as soon as he had stepped through the portal. His brain tugged at that idea, as if picking apart a knot; all of the reasons against him confessing his feelings to her began to unravel, falling away in light of the events of the past week.

Fitz pulled back slightly to get a better look at her face, bringing his hands up to cup both of her cheeks as he looked at her. It seemed as if an enormous weight had been lifted from her shoulders, even if it had left her exhausted. Her eyes were what give her away, their glassy sheen indicating that she needed a good night’s sleep. Still, he saw something else there, past the exhaustion and relief to have him home, that stirred his heart and made him think that the other Simmons had been right about what was between them.

“You’ve no idea how I’ve missed you, Jemma,” he whispered to her before carefully slanting his lips over her own, giving her the chance to push him away if she wanted to.

 

Her heart nearly stopped when his hands came to her face, the look in his eyes something she’d never seen before.

 

She knew he was going to kiss her. He’d kissed her before.

 

Correction: the other Fitz had kissed her. And different as they were, she recognized the way his head tilted to the right and the way his fingers press just a little into the flesh of her cheeks. She didn’t pull back or fall away though her knees were suddenly shaky and her breath seemed stilted. She let him kiss her, her hands dangling at her side for lack of better use and as soon as it had begun it was over, his face pulling back from hers.

 

His eyes looked hesitantly between hers, a new look in them as he registered her lack of movement and response.

 

He’d left her breathless, grappling for what to say and do, at a loss. She did the only thing she could think of. Emboldened by his kiss, she finally reached for his shirt-- one she didn’t recognize which meant it wasn’t really his-- and wound her fingers into the soft fabric, pulling him softly toward her and meeting him halfway with her lips, pressing the gentlest of kisses against his.

 

“I missed you, too.”

 

 


End file.
